If I Die young: Barricade Day 2011
by Scooter12345
Summary: Song fic If I die young by The Band Perry . . . Bahorel reflects on why he joined the cause as he dies. There is a fair amount of French.


**There is one barricade boy who gets no recognition what so ever. Bahorel is the star of my Barricade Day fic. This was taken from an idea I had during an RP. So happy Barricade Day all. **

**This is dedicated to those wonderful students who gave their lives for Liberty, Equality and Fraternity for all of the French people. This is also dedicated to the wonderful actors who have done so well with these characters. Thank you for being there to put faces to names. We thank you humbly with our stories. **

_If I die young, bury me in satin  
>Lay me down on a, bed of roses<br>Sink me in the river, at dawn  
>Send me away with the words of a love song<em>

Bahorel's green eyes looked to a corner of the bar. He was itching for a fight but he wanted a good one. He needed a reason. He wanted it to be for a cause, blame Enjolras.

He ran a hand through his already mussed up mahogany hair. He took another swig of cheep wine and scanned again. Then he saw it.

She was a pretty girl, no older than eighteen. Maybe younger, she looked like she could have been Pouvaire's age. She had dirt colored hair that he could see wasn't natural. Natural color would have been a bit lighter than her eye brows which were a reddish blond. So he could assume her hair would have been a light champagne color or maybe having an appearance of strawberry wine.

Her eyes were blue as was her dress. It was rather short and showed off her bone thin ankles. Her eyes were painted with a light sky blue and her gloves were white. One of the men had grabbed her tiny wrist and pulled her into him. She was whimpering at the tightness of his grip.

"Non, non messur. Messur s'il vous plait!" She whimpered.

He'd had enough of this. He stormed over without saying a word and slugged the man in the jaw.

"Mam'zelle, vous allez s'il vous plait. Je vais aller avec vous après ça. Je m'occupe à cet instant."

She fled the bar. He watched her go a moment before turning back to his fight. What a brawl it was too. He escaped narrowly. He looked pretty banged up.

"J'ai attendu pour vous." She whispered. « Merci, » she whispered, « Mon sauveur. » She kissed him on the cheek.

She took his hand as he started to sway. The rest of that night was a blur in his memory. He remembered her dressing his wounds in her humble lodging. He remembered her gentle loving beautiful voice lulling him to sleep as he bled on her couch.

"Je suis vraiment désolé" He groaned as she pressed a warm cloth to his face.

"Formidable," she smiled. Her blue eyes were shining behind her thick lashes.

It was a quiet night after that. She sat with him fondling him every once in a while. Her blue eyes were ever watchful. She had a beautiful voice and she sang to him softly.

She fell asleep next to him on her sofa. Her arm was about his waist and her head upon his chest. She smiled in her sleep. This felt right. She hadn't been a prostitute long but she could tell when it was real.

He woke before her. He was shocked to find her so openly embracing him. He could tell she was new to this life. Maybe it was her eyes, still so innocent. Maybe it was her voice, it was still so clear. Maybe it was her fear; she still had that shocked expression when men grabbed at her. Maybe it was her smile, her teeth were still there. Then he realized it had to be her love, she was still so affectionate.

"Bon jour," she murmured. Her blue eyes were staring at him. They pierced him.

"Oui, je vais aller." He whispered to her. He handed her his card. "Ma maison est vous maison." He smiled and left. "Au revior . . ."

"Angelique, Je m'appelle Angelique. Au revior . . ."

"Bahorel, Tristan Bahorel. Au revior ma cherie."

_Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother  
>She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and<br>Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no  
>Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby<em>

The sharp knife of a short life, well  
>I've had, just enough time<p>

He never heard from her. He fought for her on the barricades but he never heard from her. Well, he had one letter. Well, it was a newspaper clipping. She'd died. It was her obituary, funeral date and he had her funeral card. He'd gone to her wake and funeral. None of them knew either. Not a single ami, not even Courferyac had known.

He'd laid a red rose on her grave. The sign of love and passion. He thought it was appropriate. He only met her once but he never stopped thinking about her.

He'd come to the meeting that night impassioned. Truly aware of what the cause was and why it was now. He had a person to fight for. He fought for his Angelique. He wanted a world that was perfect and equal for all the girls . . . all the people like her. He loved her

_If I die young, bury me in satin  
>Lay me down on a, bed of roses<br>Sink me in the river, at dawn  
>Send me away with the words of a love song<em>

The sharp knife of a short life, well  
>I've had, just enough time<p>

He was bleeding out and he knew it. His eyes were closing and his world fading to shadow. He hurt. He knew it. He was dying.

_And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom  
>I'm as green as the ring on my little, cold finger, I've<br>Never known the lovin' of a man  
>But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand, there's a<br>Boy here in town who says he'll love me forever,  
>Who would have thought forever could be severed by<br>The sharp knife of a short life, well,  
>I've had, just enough time<em>

He woke to a bright light. He stood up and looked around. He said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Je t'aime Angelique." He smiled.

"Et je t'aime Tristan." He heard a clear voice whisper. "J'ai cherché pour toi."

"Angelique," he ran to her. "Formidable Angelique." He pressed his cheek to her hair and her hair to his chest.

He then realized they were both all in white. She was clean, her strawberry wine colored hair hung down beautifully curled and brushed. She was an angel. He was an angel. He'd died. However, it was for the best. There was no more waiting. He was home with his Angelique.

"Je ne cherche pas Angelique. Je ne cherche pas. Je t'aime."

"Je t'aime Tristan. Je ne cherche pas. Si chez soi est l'endroit où se trouve notre coeur, alors chez moi, c'est là où tu es. » She snuggled into him. Maybe dying for the right reasons wasn't so bad after all.

_A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar  
>They're worth so much more after I'm a goner<br>And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'  
>Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'<em>

He then remembered everything that he stood for all the speeches he'd made that got him there. He saw the rest of the amis. Some of them had girls who they loved run to them.

He noticed Combeferre smiling as though a large heavy burden had been taken from his shoulders.

He wondered in that moment if 'Ferre had been wondering what people would think of them now. He did. When he looked at Angelique he saw that they'd be remembered. Their words meant something.

_If I die young, bury me in satin  
>Lay me down on a, bed of roses<br>Sink me in the river, at dawn  
>Send me away with the words of a love song<em>

He leaned down, "Tu es une ange." He whispered.

"Tu es mon sauveur et je t'aime." she whispered as she too leaned into him. Their lips met tenderly as the gates of heaven opened.

"Tu as attendu pour moi? » he asked.

« Oui, parce que tu as attendu pour moi. » she smiled.

_The ballad of a dove  
>Go with peace and love<br>Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket  
>Save them for a time when you're really gonna need them, oh<em>

_The sharp knife of a short life, well_  
><em>I've had, just enough time<em>

He lifted her up and spun her around. She looked so happy and he was. He'd finally found what he'd been searching for and she had what he'd wanted for her.

They were happy in peace.  
><em><br>So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls_

**So this is my first song fic so be nice. Oh and:**

**Si chez soi est l'endroit où se trouve notre coeur, alors chez moi, c'est là où tu es. meaning; if home is where the heart is than my home is wherever you are. **

**Any other translations that you might need can be PMed to me. This is my first time using French dialouge in a fan fiction even though i've known French and been a French student for two years. I just felt the most fitting time to try it out was Barricade Day. **

**Ma Mère est la Republique,**

**Scooter **


End file.
